


Photo Album

by Lizlow



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-02
Updated: 2015-06-02
Packaged: 2018-04-02 14:21:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4063174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizlow/pseuds/Lizlow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Picture perfect just doesn't exist. No one can say otherwise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Photo Album

**Author's Note:**

> Clever use of writing to make certain things the way they are. Anyway, this is an Alpha Pair friendship thing, requested back on Tumblr

Picture perfect didn’t exist. A picture could be perfect, so to speak, but the moments preceding It and following it weren’t ever quite so. It was the eye of the beholder, sure, but with sweaty palms, disinterest, awkward smiles, how could anyone say those moments felt perfect until after they happened? Yukimura wouldn’t take any moment of questioning shifting in the photos needed for the related album that was held. No, keeping something like that photo book full of memories was difficult but rewarding and heart-warming. All the trials faced and overcome, every steps taken, Yukimura would track them all.

It started for Yukimura as a child – a healthy and eager four year-old. Yukimura smiled, peering around the legs of the tennis instructor on these courts (the one that would soon be of assistance to learning how to play tennis in proper). Gift, the child with the pretty, blue-hair showed power – enough power to render the boy of the same age on the other side of the instructor to shudder, blush, and be rendered speechless. They would be friends forevermore.

Captured frame-by-frame, the meeting looked fated, yet it was filled with tension, unfamiliarity, awkwardness.

The camera could only capture the momentary essence of the absolute best look of the moment. That was the only picture Yukimura saved for the album.

“You and me, let’s try a match,” Yukimura had said. “Is that okay?”

“Of course,” the other answered.

Captured once more, promises were tight and no one could recall the winner by just looking at the pictures. But Yukimura and the newly-made friend, Sanada, knew the winner. It was written carefully, saved to the photo album of memories. What the album didn’t log though were the moments after, the ones that were only in their hidden album. They wouldn’t talk about how tired they were, how they collapsed on opposite sides of the net, how their racquets touched through the net. No, those memories didn’t belong to a public photo book; they weren’t for someone to “like” or comment on.

Cross their hearts, their paths, they were officially tied together in a way Yukimura hadn’t quite imagined it to be initially. It increased rather differently, but it was accepted with welcoming arms. Yes, it was embraced as some chance that would forever be recorded in the photo book of eternity. They had common interests, harmony. Why wouldn’t it be logged? It was written, destined, if one would say it so. That was the balance of things. Everything fell into places, like pictures on pages. Life was segmented into pages that one could turn and reflect upon, but the facts were permanent, inerasable even by the most powerful will and wish.

“Sanada, in a thousand – no, much less – years, you will have the strength to conquer. Moreover, we _will_ conquer.”

“Yukimura…” Sanada stopped talking, taking in what Yukimura said before he said, “We will always be victorious.”It was something of a goal, something of an achievement to chase, something that felt like it was all a part of destiny. Yukimura laughed, briefly, eyes closed, mouth corners turned up. That was Yukimura’s charm. Powerful, unforgettable, overtaking, it was magnificent.

Another shot for the album, another memory for the books.

Years later, the two had overtaken the Rikkaidai middle school tennis club and did exactly what they promised. They challenged, stuck together, and conquered.

The victory shot was merely another miniscule addition to their scarcely-filled albums. They still had much to accomplish. It wasn’t picture perfect yet.

It never would be.


End file.
